Freak
by terrified
Summary: A one-shot. Molly defends Sherlock and is pleasantly surprised by the result.


**Freak**

They had been standing there for over an hour. The room was cold, as usual. The lonely bulbs that lit the room flickered slightly on occasion.

"Someone should change them," remarked Sherlock, while deftly lifting the eyelids of the purple-faced corpse that lay before him, with a small pair of tweezers.

"Well, I'd told maintenance a few times…" Molly replied, relieved that the silence had finally broken. "But you know how they are, they just never quite…"

"Molly. No conversation for now, please." Sherlock interrupted. He never once looked up.

"Right…sorry," muttered Molly. She lowered her eyes and focused on the surgical instruments that lay before her, awaiting instruction. His instruction.

"Hmm…"

"What is it?" She looked up at his bowed head, his tall frame hunched over the cold body that lay between them.

"Mascara."

"Mascara?"

"Yes, mascara. You're a girl, you know what it is."

"Well, I…I know what that is, but why…"

"Mascara." He repeated, whipping his head up.

"I don't under…."

"The poison, Molly," he whispered, his excited grin lighting up his face. Sherlock dropped the tweezers into the metal tray and spun lightly on his toes, turning his back to Molly.

"_But vanity, not love, has been my folly_. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen. Do you see, Molly?" he spins again to face her.

"Vanity…the mascara?" Molly answered, her brows furrowed.

"Yes, the mascara…" Sherlock repeated. His bright eyes had the answer dancing in them but he seemed to want to hear it from someone else.

"Are you saying…" Molly continued, thinking hard. She wasn't going to pass up this opportunity for conversation. Even if it meant disappointment, a possible insult, or him suddenly prancing out of the morgue, it was an opportunity worth seizing.

"Yes…" he said. He took a few strides and stood beside Molly. His gaze fixed on the corpse, Molly's fixed on him. Sherlock felt her gaze and turned austerely to look down at her.

"What…am…I…saying…Molly?" Sherlock whispered slowly.

"The mascara….killed her? The poison was _in_ the mascara?" Molly answered quietly, already convinced she was wrong.

Sherlock smiled and leaned a little nearer to her.

"Clever girl." He whispered.

"Oh…" Molly breathed, delighted.

"To the lab," he said, spinning away from her. "I've taken a swab from beneath the eyelids and I'll need to run a few tests. Will you make me a coffee, Molly? The usual. Thank you, Molly."

"Right…of course." Molly answered, unable to stop herself from smiling a little.

The door to the morgue suddenly swung open and standing in the doorway was Sergeant Sally Donovan.

"Ms Hooper, we've got a new one coming your way. And where is that report we needed on the construction worker who had drowned? Lestrade wants it ASAP." said Sergeant Donovan, her hard, steely eyes looking hard at Molly who quite possibly shrank just a little.

"R-right, sorry Sergeant. I was just helping Sherlock here…"

"Sherlock?" remarked Sergeant Donovan incredulously. It seemed she had not noticed him there.

"Sergeant," Sherlock greeted stonily.

"Hello, freak." she replied with her usual smirk. "What are you doing here?"

"Just doing my job." Sherlock replied, turning his back to her as he put his coat on.

"Doing your job?" Sergeant Donovan said with a laugh. 'Which corpse is helping you get off tonight then aye, freak?

Sherlock exhaled deeply and started packing.

"A freak you are, and always will be, I suppose. Spending every waking moment around these mangled bodies and bloodied vehicles…"

"I-I'm sorry, Sergeant…" interrupted Molly.

Sergeant Donovan stopped and turned to face Molly. Sherlock had his back to both women, but his head turned slightly, so that he could see Molly.

Sherlock observed a difference. Her gaze was tilted up, instead of looking down. Her neck seemed elongated. Even her ponytail looked like it had a little more life in it than usual. This difference amused him, and he turned fully, to watch her.

"What is it, Molly?" Sergeant asked, impatiently.

"I just wanted to say…" Molly said, staring firmly into the sergeant's eyes, "that Sherlock…is _not_ a freak."

Nobody spoke as Molly stared hard at Sergeant Donovan.

A minute passed before Sergeant Donovan burst into laughter.

"Dear god," Sergeant Donovan said, trying to collect herself.

"I meant what I said, Sergeant," Molly continued, trying not to tremble.

"Oh, I'm sure you did, you lovelorn little bird," quipped the smiling sergeant.

"Lovelorn…I-I'm not…" fumbled Molly, her gaze broke and her chin dropped.

"I'm not surprised you'd be infatuated with a strange fellow like Sherlock," Sergeant Donovan continued, "After all, you _do_ work in a morgue."

"I-I…" Molly had run out of words.

"Well, I'll be needing that report still. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." With that, Sergeant Donovan left, slamming the door behind her.

Molly bit her lip and kept her eyes low as she scurried back to the table. She began to pack up, as she frantically tried to erase the embarrassment that had just transpired. And she certainly wished Sherlock had not been there to witness it either.

But Sherlock _had _seen it all. Sherlock watched Molly as she neatly and deftly put all the scalpels and scissors back in order. He didn't say a word, but just let her vent in her own little way as her hands moved about quickly. When he finally noticed her slow down, he knew she was a little calmer.

Sherlock walked quietly towards her and stood beside her. Her eyes were still fixed down on her hands that now had nothing to do, for everything had been packed.

"Molly."

Molly remained silent. She felt embarrassed, and bullied somewhat. If she spoke, she was probably going to cry.

"You know," Sherlock began, "it doesn't bother me, what people say about me."

Molly stayed quiet. Sherlock frowned and bent to look at her. She kept her gaze firmly on her hands, not wishing to turn to face him.

"If it doesn't bother me, it shouldn't bother you." Sherlock said quietly.

"Well, it does…" Molly whispered. She turned to walk away. Despite her best efforts, a single hot tear escaped as she headed for the door. "I'll get your coffee. See you upstairs in the lab."

But Molly felt Sherlock grab her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She closed her eyes, hoping a second tear wouldn't follow.

"You should know better, Molly. You're a clever girl." Sherlock said, loosening his grip on her.

"Not clever enough." She replied, turning to face Sherlock.

"Clever enough for what?"

"To warrant your atten-…never mind." Molly sighed. "Look, I'm fine. I'm used to all of this. So just…let me get your coffee and I'll see you upstairs."

Sherlock smiled and he took her hand. Molly let out a small gasp.

"You're certainly clever enough," Sherlock remarked, as he slowly brought her hand to his lips, "for a freak like me." His glistening eyes looked right at her as he kissed the shy and pale hand belonging to Molly Hooper.

"Sherlock…I…" Molly didn't know what to say. Her mind went blank for a moment.

"Don't get too excited," said Sherlock, his charming grin in place. "I'm merely saying 'thank you'."

Molly couldn't help but smile.

"This will do, I suppose." she said, pulling her hand back from him. Her fingers gently touched the spot of skin his lips had touched.

"Shall we?" said Sherlock. For a moment, his gaze upon her was gentle, almost that of fondness.

"Yes." Molly replied, smiling. "Let me go fetch your coffee."

"I'll see you upstairs." Sherlock said, as he strode swiftly out of the morgue.

Molly watched his tall, slim frame wrapped in his dark coat walk away from her, down the corridor. Her mind returned to the kiss on her hand, _his_ kiss on her hand. She shook her head and let out a small laugh.

"Oh, Molly, you silly girl," she told herself, as she turned those flickering bulbs off and left the morgue to make Sherlock his coffee.

**End**


End file.
